


An Ancient Pitch

by Sarkasticfics



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Anal Plug, Crossdressing, Loki Feels, M/M, Smut, Thor Feels, angsty fluff or fluffy angst - I can't decide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-20
Updated: 2012-09-20
Packaged: 2017-11-14 16:53:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarkasticfics/pseuds/Sarkasticfics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Siiy, on behalf of Hildigunnur, for Help Japan. </p>
<p>Siiy wanted something non-angsty based on this piece of Thorki art: http://ooahoo.tumblr.com/post/25917289267  - I think I've more or less got the art covered, but it gets a tiny bit angsty in the middle. </p>
<p>I apologize for it being so late - It got LONG, and then I bought an apartment, acquired a stepchild, got a new job and was finally forced to admit that I'm a grown up. It was all-around traumatic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Ancient Pitch

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [None](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/11585) by Out of Control. 



> Gratitude, as ever, to Salixbabylon for the beta, to Hildigunnur for the encouragement and to LittleCatLost for the lolz.

He strides wearily down the hallway towards his rooms, Mjölnir heavy at his side. The Midgardians, though his friends, insist on a post-fight ritual which Thor finds himself rather resentful of – the last thing he wants to do when his blood sings with the joy of battle is to sit down in an office and recount the details of the skirmish. 

He understands the need to glorify battle in song and legend, but he hadn't at first comprehended the reason for the exhaustive retelling of the minutiae of a fight, until Natasha had taken it upon herself to show him how the entire system works. Then Thor had realized that the surfeit of information was to compensate for the Midgardians' lack of the Allfather and Heimdall – he's even come to view it as ingenious on several occasions, how the information he passes to SHIELD after a fight will get Natasha bigger guns and Clint a higher ratio of explosive arrowheads – but the burden of giving the report still weighs on him, often more heavily than the skirmish that preceded it. 

SHIELD had at least finally relented, once he and Steve had put up a united front, and provided them with secretaries to type down their reports. They're both getting better at operating computers – Steve had all but barricaded himself in his room for a week after Tony gave him a drawing tablet and introduced him to a process known as Photoshop – but neither of them is a fast typist. The final straw had been when the son of Coul caught Steve sneaking into SHIELD headquarters in the middle of the night and Steve, when confronted, confessed to needing the extra time to finish his paperwork. Two days later, Steve had Darcy Lewis trailing after him, which provided Thor with great amusement, and Thor himself had been set up with a nice young lady named Delilah. Delilah sits starry-eyed at a desk after Thor's every battle, asking questions and gasping at the exciting parts, and somehow she translates Thor's post-battle sagas into requests for better armour, more bullets, swifter backup. 

For all that Thor likes Delilah, however, he does not always like telling her the truth. He doesn't like telling her about the battles he considers dishonourable – fighting those who are discontent, or those who are ill, or those whose might is so easily crushed as to be paltry in comparison to the Avengers. He doesn't like telling her about the battles they almost lose, and he especially doesn't like telling her about the battles where they almost lose someone. That last is a new discovery, though, and while he'd disliked the telling, he'd liked the way Delilah had clenched her jaw and said, "Let me get my Requisition Forms, and my Complaint Forms, and my Whoopass Forms," her dark eyes glinting dangerously. Thor has no doubt that Clint will have enough arrows the next time they fight, and backup to provide more, when he's saved all of them from the foes only he can see from his perch.

He'll trust Delilah to keep working through the night, and the doctors to keep their word that Clint would be fine, but he is weary as he reaches the door to his rooms, and he may yet have another battle left this night. He rests his head briefly on the door, his hand on the knob as he breathes out once, letting his shoulders relax into his usual upright stance. If there is conflict, behind the now blood-smeared door, it will not do to show weakness.

Just because he and Loki have made up, that does not make their relationship free of argument. In fact, Pepper has said on more than one occasion - and Thor tends to think the Lady Pepper is right in most things - that on some things, he and Loki cannot communicate unless they're shouting at one another. In between the yelled imprecations and the slurs against the others' character, the truth will out, and the truth is something they can conquer. Thor is more concerned when Loki lies to him, though in Loki's defence, lately that has only been about organizing surprise birthday parties, and that time when Loki and Tony had collaborated on the flash grenades that all of the team now carry as part of their standard equipment.

The problem is the issue that hangs between them, always, and that Loki comes to resent more as the time wears on. Loki had been in Sweden when Thor had been called for this fight, but Delilah had told him that Loki was back before he'd headed home to the Avengers Tower, and Loki is especially sore about the fights he misses entirely. If he'd been in New York, Loki would at least have been in the control tower, working strategy and tactics with Steve on the line. 

Thor knows that if they start fighting now, he'll let it slip that he'll be arguing for the shortening of Loki's sentence, come Midsummer, which is the next time they'll have to check in with Asgard, and Loki will be furious at what he'll think is Thor’s pity. 

Thor just wants him to be happy, and considering that he's been watching his brother blossom, here, watching him delight in using his smarts, learning attitude and swagger from Tony - even if Loki would never admit it - Thor has actively _wanted_ him to be able to use the full extent of his capabilities in this new situation. He's curious at what Loki will do – day to day, that is. Considering how often they've fought about Loki's inability to join Thor in battle, Thor has no doubt that Loki would use his returning abilities for the sake of the Avengers – at the very least, for the sake of Thor and Pepper, and for the sake Loki's own terrifying typing lady, who's actually not a lady but a small, compact guy named Mike, who used to be a US Marine but lost his leg past the knee in an explosion. Thor has never been sure why Loki has Mike, considering he can type faster than anybody else on the team, but they're thick as thieves, and Mike is apparently precisely the right kind of crazy for Loki to relate to. Even Tony thinks Mike's nuts.

Loki types faster than Tony – a fact that Tony had tried to disprove with typing tournaments on several occasions, until Pepper had put a stop to it. She'd done so by entering the tournament and beating both of them, and Loki's grace at losing had been a great example in contrast to Tony's pouting displeasure. That had also been the start of Pepper and Loki's absolutely terrifying friendship, which Thor had exploited just hours earlier, calling Pepper to try to gauge Loki's mood. All she'd tell him is when he'd arrived in the city and that he'd been reasonably successful on his research trip. 

Loki could be in a good mood or a bad mood, depending on what was foremost in his mind. Thor has never pretended to know his brother's mind - couldn't even begin to understand, what with all the different things Loki's gone through - and he's weary; he doesn't want to think about that. He wants to open the door and go inside, but somehow, lifting his hand to twist the doorknob is harder than lifting Mjölnir, and so he stays, forehead smudging the door with blood, his breathing evening out. 

A gentle knock on the door next to his head shakes him out of his reverie, the rhythm familiar and unmistakable, even if it's out of context. Two longs, two shorts, three longs: 'brother, I am all right, but I wish you could be here with me' – their old knocking code from the time they were children, when they'd had shut-beds, side by side, in Asgard.

He breathes in, holds it, lets it out; lets the tension in his frame leak out with it; there is no quarrel waiting for him, and so no reason for him to come strutting in like the Prince of Asgard he is. 

His rooms are warm, when he opens the door, and at first he thinks Loki might have left for his own suite through the adjoining door, because he cannot see him. Then he notices that the lights are on in the bathroom they share, and there is the sound of running water. 

He is filthy from battle, so if Loki has thought to let him wash, he's not inclined to complain. He puts Mjölnir by the door, casts his stained cloak into the bin of dirty clothes, and starts fiddling with the straps of his armour. Loki has nimble fingers, so he doesn't try awfully hard – if Loki will help him, he would be grateful. His fingers feel like they've been clenched around Mjölnir's handle, and then around his worry for Clint for the past week, and he's barely feeling the buckle. 

His brother is in the bathroom and a bath has indeed been run in the enormous bathtub that seems to be a standard feature in any Stark Tower apartment. Loki is wearing a simple linen tunic, the same kind of thing they'd wear to bathe at home in Asgard, and he turns around to look at Thor, his expression inscrutable. In the end he sighs, moves closer, and starts undoing the buckles of Thor's armour, making the pieces fall away one by one. 

"I wish I'd been in Ops," Loki finally says, when he's done with the chest armour and is moving down to the lower body, to work those pieces off. "I'd have made sure the supply chains were working." He undoes another buckle, and the main part of Thor's armour falls away. "I wish I'd been with you, fighting.”

Thor pulls him in, hand on his shoulder, and bows his head into Loki's neck, breathing him in: the scent of mint and honeysuckle, the sweat of the last day, the fresh material of the tunic. 

"I wish you'd been with us, too," he says, and Loki unlaces his breeches, pushes them down, peeling items of clothing off Thor until he's standing naked on the bathroom floor, wearing naught but the sweat of his brow and the blood of his enemies on his skin. 

Loki climbs into the tub first, settles back, and then gestures to Thor, who wastes no time in getting in. He sits between Loki's spread thighs, and leans back against his chest, the wet fabric of the tunic electric on his skin, Loki's fingers so firm and strong in his hair. 

Loki washes him, massages soap into his hair and sluices it away with water, rubs a cloth gently over Thor's bruises and cuts, ignores the water turning cloudy with filth and then rusty with blood. He holds Thor still with a hand in his hair and washes his cock, his balls and then, two fingers further in, just to make sure he's clean everywhere, and something heavy and hungry settles low in Thor's gut at that, at the blatant admission that Loki desires him, his body, wants to use him. 

Loki pulls him off gently, the water and the heat making everything lethargic and slow; even Thor's orgasm comes with no urgency, just rolling waves over him, immersing him, his eyes fluttering shut as pleasure washes through him. He's tired, but the exhilaration of battle - _Adrenaline,_ Tony Stark calls it – is still singing through his extremities. 

"Do you wish for me to stay?" Loki asks, voice gentle and muffled against Thor's shoulder blade, almost lost amidst the sound of water as Loki drains the filthy water from the tub and refreshes their bath with clear water from the taps.

"Yes," Thor admits. "I find myself yearning for your particular charms, brother." He can feel Loki's mouth turn up into a grin against his shoulder, the fingers of Loki's hand that is still idly playing with Thor's manhood tightening, and he hisses as Loki cards his fingertips through the sparse blonde curls above Thor's prick, pulling a little, not gently. 

"I will think of something, then," Loki says, and lets go, rising from the bath behind Thor, water streaming from the folds of fabric wrapped around him. "I'll try to make it special enough that you forget your troubles." 

"I trust you, as ever," Thor mutters, and looks up early enough to see a flash of a genuine grin cross Loki's face, before he's back to his mask of inscrutability. 

He lies in the warm water a little while longer, letting the heat sink into his muscles and relieve his aches and pains. He can hear the door between his and Loki's adjoining rooms open and close, several times, and the rustle of cloth as Loki readies his bed – their bed, if Thor is to be truthful. He has no idea what form of relaxation Loki may have in mind; his brother could be preparing anything from a sparring session to a massage, and his unpredictability is fascinating to Thor, one of the things he enjoys the most about his repaired relationship with his brother. It was also the thing he enjoyed the least, back before Loki's capture, and especially after Loki's placement with him, before they'd managed to make amends. 

He's stepped out of the bath and is drying off when there's a knock on the closed door, and he smiles to himself, pleased at the timing. 

Thor never knows what to expect from Loki, not anymore, though he's grown to admit that Loki knows him better than he knows himself, and no matter what he'll find on the other side of the door, it'll undoubtedly be exactly what Thor needs. The issue is that Thor's never been particularly good at assessing his own needs. 

He's cautious, therefore, as he makes his way into his own portion of their adjoining rooms: some nights, his brother decides that what he really needs is an impromptu lesson in krav maga, and it's not that he's not right, it's that he takes the 'impromptu' part very seriously. 

Loki isn't lurking anywhere obvious. Loki isn't lurking at all. Thor's breath catches in his throat and he wonders if he wouldn't have preferred it if his brother had come flying at him with a knife – except not. Except Loki always knows what Thor wants, and lately, Loki has been endeavouring to give it to him, if it's at all within his power – and within Loki's oddly sketchy but generally reliable frame of morality. 

What he's looking at– Thor hadn't thought Loki would let him have it. It'd been an idle fantasy, harmless even as it became all the more elaborate, and it had never been his intention to put it up as an idea, except his brother seems to effortlessly pluck thoughts out of people's heads all the time, and Thor shouldn't be so surprised that apparently Loki can do it to him, too. 

He drifts closer to the bed, staring at the wanton picture his brother makes, settled up against the sheets. "Thor," Loki purrs demurely, eyes downcast, utterly at odds with his current appearance. 

"You look..." Thor starts, but finds himself not sure what statement he intended to make. 

"Like a slut," Loki says, his eyes delighted, probably at rendering Thor without words. "Your cheap slut."

"I would not say cheap," Thor says, reaching out a hand to slide the backs of his fingers down Loki's side, the smooth luxurious glide of it telling him the garment is made of silk, the embroidery adding texture in uneven places. Thor looks down, stares at the Celtic knotwork around the edges of it, black silk thread on dark forest green; Loki's colours. 

"Expensive, then," Loki says, and his chest expands and contracts oddly with his breath, Thor's fingers marking the rise and fall of it, the constriction of it, the way Loki's eyes glitter. Loki's chin is still demurely lowered but his gaze is catching everything through his lashes, every expression of Thor's, every hitch of his breath. Loki will know by now, if he didn't before, that Thor is more than just not averse to this; he'll know that Thor had fantasized about this. He'll know that Thor is turned on by the sight of him, done up this way, and he'll surely know what neither of them have said yet, just as Thor knows by the tilt of Loki's smile as he lowers his face even further.

"I'll be your expensive whore," he purrs, voice soft and seductive, and then he gasps, the sound little less than a laugh. "No, wait, my dear Prince of Asgard," he goes on, "I'll be your exclusive courtesan, willing to do your every bidding." He sways into Thor's hand, still at his side, and Thor firms his stance, holds steady and lets Loki lean into his touch.

"I'll call you Sir, and everything you do shall be pleasing to me," he whispers teasingly, walking a little closer on his knees, until Thor's touch is less there to steady him and more to stop him from leaning in, but Loki has never needed proximity. "You've come home after battle to find me dressed in the garments you favour, waiting to serve you in any way you might desire, waiting for your command. I will trade my contentment and comfort for the pleasure I can provide to you, that will be my purpose." Loki is watching him, out of the corners of his eyes, through his lashes, kneeling an arm's length from the edge of the bed where Thor is standing. 

Loki, his brother, who likes to play uncomfortably close to the truth, and who sometimes forgets, so accomplished a liar is he, that no matter how you cloak the truth or how you try to legitimize lies, what really matters is not the content of a story but how people feel about the story being told. Thor slides an arm around Loki's back and pulls him in, holding him to his chest, whispering in his ear. "What need have we of such pretence, brother, when the truth tells a kinder tale of both of us?"

Loki is stiff in his arms, but he hesitantly leans in, resting his cheek on Thor's shoulder. The bed is of a perfect height for that, Thor observes, pleased, wondering if Tony would like to be informed of this fact, or if he'd prefer to remain ignorant. 

"Perhaps I thought that the idea of controlling me would excite you," Loki says, and Thor scoffs.

"Commanding a warrior such as you in battle would be an honour, brother," he says, "but in pleasure, I would not presume to."

He knows he's given the right answer when Loki's back shakes under his hands, the ribbon of the laces quivering beneath his fingers as Loki laughs into Thor's chest. "What if I would be commanded in this?" Loki asks, muffled by Thor's shoulder, still gasping out the words between giggles so sharp that they sound like they might hurt. "What if I would rather have you demand my obedience than..." 

Oh.

_Oh._

He draws Loki even closer, holding him tightly, not caring what guise he's put on for the moment, and hopes he'll be worthy of the second chance he's being given, of the truth he's being told – hopes that in the coming days until Midsummer he'll manage to make Loki understand his heart.

"This will be the last time I shall make such demands of you, Loki," he sighs into Loki's hair, and he nods, sharply. "Then we talk, brother." 

When he lets go, Loki surprises him by leaning in, quick and sharp, and kissing him on the lips, just a brief moment of contact and pressure that's there and gone in the next heartbeat. 

He's back in control of himself when Thor steps back and looks him up and down, finally giving himself permission to appreciate the way Loki looks, the way he's dressed, and he does not curse lightly, but he feels like letting loose an epithet in this moment.

Loki is _thorough_. Thor has always known this, but it's easy to forget how detail oriented he is when faced with something on as grand a scale as whether or not the world will be safe for another day – regardless of where Loki's come down, in that fight, the Avengers are a blunt instrument and he's treated them as such, whether or not he's a foe or a friend. 

It's in moments like these, though, that he gets to appreciate Loki's knack for forcing details to fit in with his overall vision. 

And a vision is exactly what Loki makes. 

He's wearing stockings. They're dark gray, with a lace panel at the top that's threaded with green silk ribbon, and they're held up with what Thor presumes is a garter belt, judging from the straps framing Loki's crotch. He can't quite see, because Loki's wearing something that would like to think it's a skirt, made of some dark, floaty fabric, just long enough to obscure Loki's cock and arse, ruffled enough that Thor can't even tell if his brother is aroused or not. 

He can tell his brother is wearing underwear because there're a few scraps of green fabric peeking out of the waistband of the skirt-like thing. His mouth waters, because anything this insubstantial is just made to be torn off his body, and Loki knows that. Loki knows, and by wearing it is giving his permission for such an action. 

And then there's the corset. In colours of green and black, the silk fabric seems to shimmer in the soft light of the room, catching the eye immediately. It's tightly sewn, barely two inches of space between the bones, the fit accentuating Loki's broad chest but creating the illusion of a tiny waist, the laces a black silk ribbon trailing down Loki's rear from where it's tied at the bottom of the corset. 

The whole picture is one of luxurious abandon, of a Loki willing to let himself be owned and taken care of and driven to heights of pleasure beyond the usual. Thor stares, taking in the milky white skin between the tops of the stockings and the ruffles of Loki's underwear, Loki's slightly tousled hair, and the way he's sitting up straight, shoulders thrown back because of the corset.

Of course, the first thing Thor had noticed was that for all its constriction, it isn't tied particularly tightly. He himself would be fine with that, but Loki will want more – Loki will want him to notice the imperfection, because Loki revels in the idea that someone cares enough about him to correct him if he makes an error. 

"I notice," Thor says, "that your garment is not necessarily serving its intended purpose." He's still standing an arm's length away from Loki, but the smile that Loki gives him, small and devious, has him taking a step forward. 

"It is hard to properly tighten a corset when you're alone, my lord," Loki murmurs, looking up at him, his face suddenly different, and Thor gets it – this is his brother playing a part, as he'd said he would, because it's easier for him to lie to himself than to admit the truth. 

He discards the thought, stepping forward with a hand out. "Well then, perhaps I can assist," he says, and Loki turns his back, presents the nape of his neck with the way his head is tilted downwards, and Loki is wearing shoes – Thor hadn't noticed before. They're dark leather, with a very high heel, the kind the Lady Pepper wears; in fact, he's probably seen Lady Pepper in this very pair. He makes a mental note to ask Loki later, but for now the look is good, the shoes accentuating the way his feet are under him, the heels digging into Loki's ass. 

"All you have to do," Loki breathes, "is tighten. As much as pleases my lord." He's got his fingers pulling at the bow of silk ribbon so it unravels, the two parts of the corset sliding apart, until Thor grabs the laces before they slide through the eyelets at the back of the corset. 

"Loki," he says.

Loki throws him a small, wavering smile over his shoulder, and Thor can't figure out if the look is genuine or if it's all a part of the act. 

"If it pleases my lord," Loki murmurs again, letting his head fall forward until his long, unruly hair is parted at the nape of his neck, the wide expanse of his shoulders exposed, his breathing rapid and shallow. It could be from the constriction of the corset, but the corset isn't all that tight just then – it could also be nerves.

"It does," Thor says. "It pleases me very much. You look so good like this." 

He's slightly unsure, still, about how much of this can be considered in any way safe or reasonable, but this is Loki; safe and reasonable don't usually hang out in his vicinity, and if Loki is nervous, Thor isn't about to leave him in that state. He pulls the laces tightly from the end, and watches the way the silk ribbon slides through the eyelets, the two sides of the corset pulling closer together. 

Loki's breath hitches. Thor lifts an eyebrow and pulls again, tighter, and isn't altogether surprised this time when Loki draws a deep breath, finds he cannot hold it in his lungs the way he's tied in, and lets it all out in a gasp of air, almost loud in the quiet room. "It is advisable," he says, voice perfectly normal, even as Thor keeps tightening the binding, "that you start at the top crossing of laces and pull those out, and then work your way towards the end."

He keeps a close watch on Loki as he works, pulling out the laces and then snapping them taut with a yank, waiting for Loki to tell him to stop, to indicate that this is enough, but no such thing happens. Loki is breathing sharply, his breath shallow, the corset tightened as far as it will go before Thor ties the ribbons off in a bow at the small of Loki's back, letting the ends go so they trail down over his ass. 

His hands, somehow involuntarily, settle at Loki's hips, the fabric of the ruffled underwear slippery under his palms, his brother's body quivering in his grasp. 

"Is my lord pleased?" Loki asks. He's not looking back, the way he normally would when he asks this kind of question; there's no coy glance accompanying it, and the small waver in his voice has Thor pulling him in closer, settling his hands over the tops of his thighs, until Loki is leaning back into him slightly, as much as Loki ever will. 

"I am always pleased with you." Thor mumbles, and stumbles only slightly over his next words, "My love."

Loki breathes out, and slumps back a little further, into Thor's grasp of him, and Thor lets himself acknowledge that this is a dangerous game they're playing; showing their cards in the hope they might both walk away richer for it. Loki is putting his love of independence up against his desire to please Thor, hoping Thor will demand his obedience so that Loki doesn't have to admit he'd give it freely. Thor himself stakes his claim on Loki's heart, and gambles his own on the off-chance that Loki might be genuine. 

If Loki is playing – if this is only one of his scenarios – Thor would be adrift. But he'd play along and _know_ , rather than continue hiding just how genuine are all the things he's said to Loki in the heat of passion.

One way or another, Loki will know, after this, and so will Thor. 

Thor's done a lot more for a lot less.

He runs a hand down his brother's ribcage, encased in silk and embroidery, feeling the way the breath is perpetually caught in his chest, leans his head into Loki's shoulder, putting his lips on the tendon of Loki's neck. 

"My lord," Loki breathes, and Thor can feel him twisting, trying to put himself in a position to kiss back, but Thor's got him pinned. All Loki can do is shiver under his attentions, moan when Thor bites down on the part of him where neck meets shoulder leaving a mark for all to see.

When Thor runs a hand down between his legs he finds Loki's cock hard and he strokes him through the flimsy material of the ruffled skirt and the piece of green fabric that serves as Loki's underwear, eliciting a moan from the man. Loki leans back, tilts his hips up into Thor's hand with a shallow gasp, his back still ramrod straight, the tendons in his thighs standing out with effort. His head falls back onto Thor's shoulder, his eyes half-lidded, his mouth slack and very dark and glossy – it just figures that Loki would wear lip-stain with this outfit.

"How would you like me to have you?" Thor rumbles into Loki's ear, feeling the way his brother jerks against him at the question. The way he gasps and tries to twist away tells Thor more than words could, and Thor holds on tighter, sliding the hand that isn't pleasuring his brother into Loki's hair, grabbing hold and twisting, hard and unforgiving. 

"I'll make no apologies for it; I will take you, my dear, up against the wall if that's where we end up, or I'll have you held down on the floor if I must, but you've dressed to entice me - you can't very well deny me my pleasure," he says, twisting the hand in Loki's hair even harder, feeling Loki relax into his grip. 

"Would you prefer I forced you?" he asks, and Loki's head jerks slightly to the side. 

"Because I won't," Thor goes on. "I want you to want it, love. I want to give you what you want." 

Loki moans and leans back far enough that when they twist their heads their lips can meet, long and slow and hot, Loki's attempts at deep breaths shaking both of them. 

"Thor," he moans, when they move apart. 

"What did you have in mind?" he asks again, reassured that his brother didn't try to call him 'my lord'. 

"You are a bastard," Loki whines, and Thor lets him go, lets him lean forward as much as he can for the corset, takes his hands off his brother's body and conclusively proves him right, this time. 

"I could take you right here," Thor replies conversationally, watching his brother's back heave, wanting to reach out and touch but knowing it will probably not be welcome, not when Loki is so undone. "Or I could take you against the edge of the bed, just bend you over it and fuck into you. You're wearing heels high enough that we should be of a height, don't you think? I wouldn't even have to rip off your underwear, just push it aside."

Loki turns to look balefully over his shoulder, and Thor grins, because his brother is out of character now, and that's how Thor likes him. 

"Or I could flip you over, hold your legs up against your chest, or over my shoulders, go deep. You know how much you like it when I hit your sweet spot, darling." 

"I just want you in me," Loki growls, turning over, sitting with legs splayed over the edge of the bed. "I like it when you..." 

Thor is waiting for him to get back into character, to admit to liking whatever Loki thinks Thor might want most, but that doesn't happen. Instead, Loki moves up the bed, sits up against the headboard, his feet on the mattress.

"I like it when you show me that you want me," he says, voice low, but this is Loki. He's not in character anymore; this is his brother, wearing a corset and ruffled underwear because he thinks Thor might enjoy it, not because it fits in with the scenario he wants to pretend is reality for the moment. 

"I like it when you ruin my clothes because you can't wait to figure out how to take them off. I like it when you hold me down while you fuck me, like you're worried I'm going somewhere. I like it when you demand my obedience, and... whatever you want to do tonight, I'm ready. I want you." 

"Loki," Thor says, and he moves up onto the bed, close enough to run his hand down Loki's side again, stopping at the bottom of the garment to test the elastic of Loki's underwear. 

"Whatever you want, Thor," his brother mutters, but his eyes are lowered, like the admission of desire is shameful. 

"I want to fuck you like this," Thor says. "I want to lay you out on the sheets, pull you onto my cock, get your knees over my shoulders and just keep driving into you. I want to fuck you with my fingers until you're loose enough to..." 

"Thor," Loki says, and interrupting is unusual enough to warrant Thor's full attention. "I said I was ready," he whispers, and when he pushes his legs apart, pulling his knees up, Thor can see the base of the plug he's wearing, the thong doing a nice job pretending to keep it in the way he's positioned. 

He doesn't want to be the person responsible for every decision either of them makes, but in terms of easy, telling Loki sharply to get on his knees and kneel up is amongst the simplest commands he's ever given. The plug is even more obscene this way, the way it pulls at the skimpy fabric of Loki's panties, and Thor gives in to his first impulse, taking a hold of the garment and pulling at it, waiting for the material to give way in his hands. Loki moans when the seams tear and stays still, provides leverage for Thor to tear the item off him, shivering under Thor's hand when Thor stops as soon as it is out of his way.

"I was thinking of you," Loki pants, when Thor flicks the base of the plug, the panties torn and hanging off of one of Loki's knees. "I was thinking of your huge dick in me, how much you always try to stretch me, and I thought maybe some adjustments were needed."

"Considerate of you," Thor says, lifting an eyebrow when he slides the plug out, discovering that it's at least as wide around as he is. 

Loki throws a glance over his shoulder, his mouth twisted into a wry expression, and his honesty throws Thor off balance when he replies. "I didn't want to give myself time to change my mind," he says. "I thought that in the heat of passion, I could admit all that I've said tonight and if you'd prefer, you could dismiss it as a way to make conversation while we fucked. I thought that waiting for you to prepare me would give me – what is the human expression? Cold feet?" He turns back towards the bed while he admits these things, hiding his expression from Thor. Thor lets him, while Loki speaks, but after, he presses a hand to Loki's hip and turns him over, watching his brother throw an arm over his eyes – a gesture he's seen often enough in the past that he wonders what he's missed. 

"You are so lovely, brother," he says, instead of stating his objections to Loki's plan to reveal his affection, to the sneaky way Loki does everything. He watches as Loki tilts his head slightly, enough that he can watch Thor's face through his half-lidded eyes, probably waiting for insincerities – Thor wonders if his brother hasn't realized yet that Thor never lies to him, he's known him too long. "I have adored you since we were children, and it is my greatest pleasure, now, to watch you become the person I always thought you could be." 

"Finally, you mean," Loki mutters drily, but he doesn't shift away, his legs still open and inviting, his cock still hard and leaking. 

"I've always known loving you would not be an easy road," Thor retorts, and watches, a little amused, as Loki's self-assurance falters. "For I have loved you a long time, brother, since long before you welcomed me into your bed, since long before I knew that your heart was stronger than your baser desires." 

Loki stares at him, eyes wide, and then scrambles back, hands grasping at the duvet, trying to put some distance between them, but Thor grabs a hold of his ankles and holds on, goes down to his knees at the side of the bed to press a kiss against the tendons of Loki's right ankle, feeling the stockings under his lips, smooth and silky. Loki gasps, and when Thor looks up again, his expression is lost. 

"I have not," he says, and though his voice is strong, he trembles on the last word. "Thor, you must... I haven't... we're not _equal_ in this, brother." He looks crushed, like Thor's declaration of affection was the worst thing that could have happened. 

Thor feels like his heart is beating in his throat, but he forces his voice to come out even, his hands still holding onto Loki's legs, the silk making his fingers glide easily up to Loki's knees. "You believe you hold less affection for me, then?" he asks, and watches a stricken expression cross his brother's face. He's almost ready to bolt himself when Loki finally answers.

"No!" he says, and his voice sounds like the answer cost him. "No, I believe I... hold you in the highest regard, but I haven't... Thor, I never..." 

Thor breathes out and smiles down at his brother. "Loki," he says, "it matters not to me how it came about, or when it did. What matters to me is if you're happy, if I can make you so, and whether you'll let me." 

Loki stays silent, considering that, his face uncertain. Thor leans up over the edge of the bed, putting his hands on either side of Loki's hips, kissing him in the space between the stockings and the garter belt, pushing up the ruffle to reach the soft skin where his brother's thigh meets his groin. 

"Thor," Loki sighs, above him, and then his fingers curl into Thor's hair, not to push him away but to keep him where he is. Thor looks up, his lips still on Loki's inner thigh, and he's resisting the urge to make a mark, his mark, but all such thoughts dissipate when he sees the look on Loki's face. "I will never be much for grand declarations of affection," Loki says. His fingers are gentle in Thor's hair, but he looks sad. 

"You let me lace you into stays, and are wearing an outfit that can't be comfortable, all for my benefit," Thor counters. 

"It's sexy," Loki returns, "and it makes me feel so, under your gaze. Comfort does not matter. No, brother, I still wish to..." 

Thor, unable to help himself, finally knowing what the answers to all his questions will be, even if Loki hasn't put words to them yet, puts his hands on Loki's hips and pulls him down on the bed. He puts Loki's knees on his shoulders and leans in without a word, breathing in the scent of his brother's sex and the slightly sweet chemical odour of lubricant. 

"Oh," Loki breathes. "Thor, you must let me... I need to think..." 

"I’m not stopping you from thinking," Thor says, speaking the words into the soft skin at Loki's perineum. 

"No, I can't- I mean, Thor-" Loki says, and then sighs when Thor's tongue trails over his balls, down his crack, dipping into his wet, open hole. That plug had been awfully large, Thor remembers, and Loki should get some reward for being so diligent about preparation. 

When he presses his lips to the rim of Loki's ass, Loki bites down on a cry and Thor grins to himself, adjusts his grip and pushes Loki's legs open further, presses in and keeps at it, his tongue sliding into Loki where he's open and ready to be fucked. This is what Loki had planned to do to him: to tell him things when Thor couldn't think for arousal, and demand answers while Thor wasn't coherent. Thor figures turnabout is fair play, here, and pushes his tongue deeper, slides a hand down the back of Loki's leg until he can snag a thumb on Loki's opening, and Loki keens above him when Thor tests just how ready he is. 

"Keep working on it, little brother," Thor whispers, when Loki is thrashing under him, pulling back just in time to keep Loki on the edge. Loki's ass is at the edge of the bed, but Thor wants better leverage than that, wants to be over him while he fucks him, wants gravity on his side. He climbs up on the bed and grabs Loki, turning him so that his head is at the footboard, pushing his legs open so that Thor can crawl in between them. 

"Thor," Loki says, his eyes blown wide with arousal now, but his mind is obviously still working at the problem. "Thor, I want to- Thor, please- I'm ready for you, whatever you want, I belong..." and then he clamps his lips together. 

"You're right," Thor says. "You do belong to me. Look at you, you look so debauched, so ready to be fucked, don't you? You're so terribly beautiful, like this, anything you do for me, you're always lovely, and when you're just being yourself, you're stunning." Loki throws his head back, and Thor notices that the arm is over his eyes again – if that's what Loki needs, he won't object, but he would wish to see him. 

Loki's long, thin body is stretched out on the sheets, his chest heaving to compensate for the way his ribcage is constricted. There's a ladder in the stocking on his left foot, starting at the inner knee and trailing up towards where the lace starts – probably Thor's fault, with his rough hands – but the green ribbon woven through the lace accentuates his strong thighs, the straps of the garter belt frames his arousal, and the ruffle that Thor realizes is attached to the garter is creased and stained and all the more attractive for it. Miraculously, Loki's still somehow wearing both shoes, though the right one is barely hanging off his toes. His leg is thrown over Thor's hip and not quite folding back into the sheets, his heel instead caught up against the inside of Thor's knee. 

Thor can't help but wonder how Loki would think that he's anything else than gorgeous in this state, and says so, causing Loki to squirm. His face is pressed into the pillow beside his head, and all Thor can see of Loki’s expression now is the blush staining his cheekbone, his face in profile, and the way his mouth opens against the pillows, red and wet. The way Loki tries to breathe in heaves but the corset won't let him. 

"Shall I take it off of you?" Thor offers, moving in closer, letting Loki's legs drape over his thighs and hips, Loki's legs forced ever wider by Thor's bulk moving in. He trails a finger down the front of the corset, where it's all smooth and straight, and Loki shivers under him, even if Thor knows he can't feel the touch directly. "I like it, but if it's causing you discomfort..." he trails off.

"I like it," Loki says, voice low. "The discomfort. I like that it was you who laced it up, until you were satisfied with how it made me look. I would wear it every day, if it meant you were to tell me the things you've told me tonight."

Thor breathes out, then leans over Loki, putting their foreheads together, his hand finding the bottom of the corset, where Loki's body is shivering from the effort it takes to breathe, so tightly laced in. "I love you," he says, barely an inch between their lips. He leans down for a kiss, and when he breaks it, he smiles. "I love you," he says, and trails his mouth down to Loki's clavicle, and Loki bucks up, his sides heaving. "I love you," Thor mutters into the mark he's made on Loki's collar bone. When his lips meet the edge of the corset, Loki's tossing his head on the pillow, a trail of marks leading down his neck to his pectoral. 

"Take it off," Thor offers, "and all that will happen is that I will declare my affection to your nipples, to every one of your ribs, to your stomach and navel..." 

"Oh fuck," Loki says, and before Thor knows rightly what he's done, they're kissing, Thor's hardness resting in the cradle of Loki's hips, and Loki's bucking up into him, back bowing as much as the unforgiving garment he's wearing will allow him. 

"Your mouth," Loki says, when they break apart, "should not be allowed. I should issue a complaint, somewhere, that it was." 

"I've got my own complaints to issue," Thor says, and is delighted when his brother smiles at him, neither coy nor sharp, follows his gaze down their bodies and bites his lip. 

"I'm still ready for anything you might want to do," Loki reminds him. "Anything – just fuck me."

Thor smiles at him and pushes his legs even further apart, presses fingers in behind Loki's balls to test the veracity of his claims, finding him relaxed and open enough that he's right; Thor should be able to slide right in. 

"It is so very easy to love you," Thor says, pushing three fingers into Loki's body, enjoying the way it relaxes around him – the thought of Loki doing this to himself is heady, almost too much to bear. "So very easy, and so very simple to me, no matter what you think," he adds, and watches Loki's smile widen, feels him shift on the bed to spread his legs wider, until his knees are framing Thor's ribcage, and he just looks indecent, the wrecked lingerie accentuating his every stretch and curve. 

"It can't have always been easy," Loki retorts. Thor can feel him try to arch into the fingers in his ass, so he shifts, puts his weight on his knees and slides the hand he was using for support under the small of Loki's back, pulling him up. The sound Loki makes – a bitten off groan – is entirely worth the exertion, and Thor grins, pulling his fingers out, not at all surprised when Loki glares at him. 

"Patience, my darling, has never been your strong point," he laughs, and Loki huffs.

"Neither has it ever been yours," he retorts, settling back into the bedding, looking as indolent and relaxed as a king on his throne. "And I am more stubborn than you, brother." 

Thor leans down, until his mouth is level with Loki's ear, feeling his brother tense, and he smiles, knowing Loki can't see it. "You're right on that score, dearest," he breathes, lining their hips up, and Loki leans up to kiss him as he starts pressing in, their mouths open and their gasps mingling, and then Loki makes a half-choked groan as Thor bottoms out inside him, and wraps his legs around Thor's waist. 

Everything is soft and smooth and silken – the slide of the silk of Loki's corset under Thor's hands, the tops of the stockings brushing his sides as they rock together, Loki bringing his knees up and trying to arch up into his thrusts, his legs wrapped around Thor's midsection, and the smooth glides of their bodies fitting together, Loki so hot and open around him. 

"Thor," he groans, and Thor smirks to himself, taking a hold of Loki's hips and pulling him back as Thor leans up on his knees, until Loki's ass is resting in his lap. Thor is moving slower but surer, until Loki is panting as much as the corset will allow him, his hands restless by his sides. 

"What a beautiful sight you make," Thor sighs and Loki whines, high in his throat. "You could always take matters into your own hands," he adds. 

"Why... nnngh... should I?" Loki groans. "I am counting on you to take care of me." He's watching Thor from beneath his eyelashes, his eyes luminous, and Thor's hips stutter with his breath - the way his brother frames his request for Thor’s touch makes his breath catch in his throat. 

"You should know by now," he says, leaning forward until he can rest his weight on one hand, "that I always will." 

He wraps his other hand around Loki's cock, and Loki's eyes flutter shut as he establishes a rhythm between his hands and his hips that make his brother shudder underneath him, bite his lip and throw his head back. Thor stares, can't stop watching the way Loki moves and trembles, and he can feel his brother nearing the edge before Loki realizes that he's there, himself. 

Thor watches the way it washes over him, feels Loki's body tense under him, the way he tightens, smiles as Loki's fluttering hands finally settle around Thor's neck, his fingers scrabbling between Thor's shoulder blades, his knees pressing in at Thor's sides. 

"Oh, damnit," Loki gasps, and Thor grins. 

"Just let it go, brother," he says, adding a twist with his hand that has Loki groaning and shuddering, and the end of his orgasm pulls Thor along, his thrusts getting sharper and Loki moans, his pleasure spent but his body still loose and pliant under Thor.

"I've got you," he sighs, and maybe it's the sound of his voice, hoarse and lilting, or maybe it's what he says, but Thor comes with a loud groan, his forehead on Loki's clavicle, Loki's long fingers carding through his hair. 

"I love you," he whispers, as soon as he's caught his breath, and when he leans back, he sees that Loki's eyes are sharp and thoughtful again. 

"I..." Loki says, and Thor grins at him. "You are my greatest..." he tries, and Thor laughs, leaning down to kiss him deeply, before rolling them over to lie side by side. 

"You may lie to me, Loki, if you find it easier," he teases, and Loki stares at him, before lifting an eyebrow.

"I hate you," he says, voice haughty and cold, and Thor's smile widens. "I can't stand the sight of you, and dread returning to you whenever we're apart. I wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire." 

Thor grins at him, and Loki allows a small smile to pass over his face, and they lie there like idiots, catching their breaths, as the sweat from their coupling cools on their bodies. Loki sighs when Thor finally rolls him over and starts unlacing the corset, eyelet by eyelet, and by the time it's wide enough to take off, he's relaxed into the bedding, half asleep, so Thor simply unhooks the garter belt and draws the ruined stockings off him until his brother is naked and languid in his bed. 

"You are the one I care for the most," Thor whispers, into the silence of the room, trailing his fingers down Loki's spine. "Sleep with me, tonight?" 

"I couldn't move if I tried," Loki mutters, and Thor smiles and pulls the covers up over both of them. 

He's pulled Loki into his arms and is half asleep when the other man speaks again.

"You are going to argue for the return of my magic come Midsummer," he says. His voice is flat, emotionless, and it's not a question. 

"Yes," Thor finally says. The room is dark, and Loki's face is turned into Thor's shoulder, so he's got no idea what his brother thinks on the subject – except that he finds it important enough to raise it in this moment. 

"Why?" Loki asks.

It's a simple question, one that Thor had been dreading, but after the events of the night, he has an easier time answering it than he otherwise might have. 

"Because I wish for your happiness, love."

"And you believe the return of my magic will bring me that?" Loki asks. His voice is still flat, but the way his words sound clipped tells Thor that he's on very thin ice.

"No," he says, and feels his brother tense in his arms. "I think that standing with the Avengers in battle will do that." 

There's a long moment where nothing happens, and then Loki relaxes, leaning into Thor in tiny increments, until he's wrapped up in Thor's embrace, limbs loose and his head on Thor's chest. 

"All right," he says, voice quiet but sounding much more like himself. 

They say nothing more, but just as Thor is dropping off to sleep, he hears Loki mutter something into the darkness of the room. It sounds like ”You are my best beloved”, but he can't be sure.

The next morning, when Thor steals the last cup of coffee and Loki loudly claims to loathe him, no, really, to the depths of his very soul, no one has any idea why the words make Thor smile like a fool.


End file.
